


We Plan, We get there, All hell breaks loose

by MarauderChaos



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aged, Aged-Up Character(s), Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Cedric Diggory Lives, F/F, F/M, Harry Potter Goes to a Different School, Hogwarts Sixth Year, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Minor Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Misguided Albus Dumbledore, Powerful Harry, Powerful Ron Weasley, Sirius Black Free from Azkaban, Time Travelling Harry Potter, Wrong Boy-Who-Lived (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:54:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarauderChaos/pseuds/MarauderChaos
Summary: The Battle was won, but they were still running. Comrades were dead, lives destroyed. Voldemort was dead, but the Death Eaters did not stop and this time Lucius Malfoy took the lead.It came to a standstill, a stalemate, both sides staring the other down, daring them to move. And in that time, in the forty eight hours that seem to freeze time around them, Harry called on Death. She offered them a way out, an end to the war, but at a cost.And so, only hours later they awoke in a place that could have been home but was very different, at least in one aspect. For James and Lily were alive.
Relationships: Cho Chang/Cedric Diggory, Daphne Greengrass/Blaise Zabini, Luna Lovegood/Ron Weasley, Theodore Nott/Harry Potter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 93





	1. At the end they begin

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine me actually finishing one story before I start another  
> How scandalous that would be
> 
> I do plan to finish my Harry/Edmund story, but I am doing some re-writing at the moment because the latest chapter I wrote was appalling and I don't want to publish it yet.

The tree's seemed to bend to their will, curling branches slipping between the shadows, rustling against the leaves that coated them, they became a barrier. Four stood in a clearing of dead branches and snapped twigs and fallen leaves in the cold autumn, the darkness did not receded within the oncoming daylight that followed the sun as it started it ascent into the sky. The day was early, incredibly so, but it wasn't as cold as they predicted, in the silence that preceded their awakening. 

The four were quiet, staring in a circle, though it may have been a square, hard to tell in the dim light. They bore their share of blood stains and scars, and dirt matted in their growing hair, clothes ripped and sliced like their tender skin, cheeks hollowed with starvation. The leader of the group seemed the worst off, as they had struggled to their feet that morning, a blank void listless in green eyes and a body already malnourished from years of abuse only suffered more. Yet he stood taller, his face only grew colder and his determination stronger. He would take them through high or hell water, dangerous when so resilient to finish it all and yet so weighed down by a guilt and bloody hands. Nobody would come out innocent of his war. 

"If this works," He spoke, voice quiet and rasping, whether from orders screamed into the fight and oncoming fire or from little use in the sneaking of the night, you couldn't tell. But every word was weighted with the possibility, the risk they would take. 

"If this works, we can't know if it will change anything. If it doesn't, if we fail," There was a long pause and a sharp bang bit though the silence, a volley of voices drifted their way. 

"If we fail, run."

The noises were starting to edge closer, and the snapping of twigs echoed underfoot. Another figure scoffed sharply, once vibrant read locks now reduced to a bland mess, somewhat grey looking and resembled the dull weariness reflected in all their eyes. 

"If we fail, Potter, I'm fighting. I quit running if all's it does is make me suffer longer."

Cold emerald met sharp blue, and the two men stared each other down, one ready to give orders and another ready to take them. Two men that would die for each other in a heartbeat, but of which were loosing their reason for living in the first place. 

"What if we do run? What will you do?"

Long gone was the soft, dreaming girl that believed in creatures that didn't exist, the only thing left to remind them of the old days was the corks necklace close to falling apart but still faithfully hung around her neck. 

"I'll give you time, and then; a reason to keep on running, fighting. Because we fight for those left behind on the streets to deal with the mess we made, the bloodshed and fire and destruction left behind when our fights have succumbed elsewhere. We fight for those that don't have the chance to protect themselves. So if this fails, you will run. You will keep on running. If everyone dies it's more than just our lives lost,but everyone else's."

And again, a whip like crack echoed through the thicket as their enemy drew closer. The other three drew away from the middle, crossing to stand behind him. Ron clasped his hand firmly, and Harry drew his hand up to grip the side of his best friends head, the two men, the two soldiers, with their foreheads pressed together for one long second. The final goodbye. 

Whether this worked or not, at least one would die. 

The Boy Who Lived took a deep breath, stood in the middle of the darkened clearing, back where he had died for the second time. And once more with the stone in his grasp. He closed his eyes, and turned to resurrection stone. Once. Twice. A third time. Just like before. Except the sacrifice they were about to make would change it all and they weren't even to know if Death would come. 

But she did, as masked figures burst forwards with the dark mark branded into their skin, little difference bar the M now imprinted along the snake and screams of a curse bursting from their lips. Just one curse. The one to kill. 

White noise. 

"I must commend you, very few have used that stone and resisted it's temptation, but you did both, and then went back; not for your needs but instead to summon me. You really are different, Harry Potter"

It was as though resurfacing from beneath the ocean, air seemed to pour into his mouth, sucked in like a panting gasp as his eyes fluttered open, with the nauseating feeling of being sucked within a pipe. There seemed to be salt upon his skin, itchy and irritating, like sand sticking to his clothes and brushed within his hair, and his clothes themselves dripping with water, drenching him from head to foot. A shiver racked through his body. He rolled on to his stomach, eyes still have closed, relishing in the comfort of the darkness of his eyelids, before a wave of water really soak his skin, a gentle wisp and the loud screech of a seagull adobe. 

The sea. Why was he on a beach?

What the hell was happening?

He jerked upwards, staggering to his feet, every muscles screaming g for him to lay down, to disappear beneath the coolness of the water and sleep for a hundred damn years.

"H-Harry?" A gasping splutter to his right, and his head turned, long after his feet started moving, splashing through the ripples of low waves that only rode up to just below the knee. Bare skin that shouldn't have been bare and yet no longer were his clothes the blood stained tatters of a soldier, but clean comfortable trousers rolled up above the knee and a t-shirt brushing slightly in the breeze. He felt clean, young. Free. His fingers grasped a heavy bicep, and although his eyes were open, it was as if to see for the first time since awakening as a glint of red found its way through the haze in his mind. 

"Ron?"

His best friend, his brother, too no longer wore the hardships of war on his shoulders, but a similar outfit, one that clashed almost painfully with his hair and yet the corners of his mouth twitched, so painfully close to smiling. An art long forgotten. 

"What the fuck?!" 

Another familiar voice, and for one beautiful moment a laugh bubbled up from his throat, escaping from his lips, somewhat hysterically and he stumbled through the water, catching a hold of Theo as he blinked, spitting water from his mouth, breathing heavily. 

Luna found her way to him, crashing into his chest, bright flailing hair and an innocence so forgotten on her face, a new brightness. Theo stumbled upright, mouth moving but words seemed to have failed him as Ron joined the trio, their arms in the muddle and the mess finding each other, pressed in to one large hug, reassuring themselves that they were indeed all alive. _Breathe._

"Whilst the rare show of affection in my realm is rather endearing, one would hope there was a better reason for your summons?"

Their hysteria, the shock, the moment of relief releasing air into their bodies and for the first time in along time, they allowed their emotions to come forth. The sun shone a brightly though from where they could not tell, it was just and endless beach of flat sand and a beautiful crystal blue gently lapping up the shore. But now came the questions, as their brains seemed to sink back within their heads, as they squinted around, stumbling onto the warm sand, looking for the source of the voice. 

Their instincts screamed at them from the back of their minds, a small voice o easily squashed like a bug underfoot, as though all those years of war condensed into one speck of their lives. Try as they might, it was impossible to feel anything other than content now, as they sunk into the sand, limbs bumping and pressing into each other, without a reason why and somewhere in the back of their minds one might remember it was because they were scared, scared of loosing each other. But for now, in here, it was all they could do not to sleep.

Even the women who sat beside them in the shadows of the palm tree that had not been their moments ago - or mane it had, they couldn't tell - even that did not phase them as she smiled. It wasn't a warm smile per say, but neither was in unwelcoming, and it was more amused than anything else, a hint of curiosity in the deep brown eyes.

"Oh-Oh yes" Theo gasped slightly, as if still struggling with the use of his lungs, a secondary lapse wherein forgetting to breathe. 

"Bloody Hell it worked" Ron whispered, though nobody else would hear them; it was just the five. Harry Potter. Ron Weasley. Theodore Nott. Luna Lovegood. And Death. 

_And Death._

"You called me, and here we are. The Leader, the Protector, the Lover and the Glue. And me." Death, if that what one was to call her, sounded rather happy about it. 

"I've been waiting for you to summon me for a long time. I was beginning to think I would have to wait for your death to speak to you."

Her voice was rich and soothing, despite who she was, what she did. Harry opened his mouth, but no words would come out, all stuck within his throat. But she understood anyhow and offered another smile, a little more sympathetic. 

"Give it a little time, the effects of the summons will where off. For now I'm sure I know what you want to ask. This place is what the mortals have described as Limbo, you are neither dead nor alive. Much like a trip you took to speak with Albus Dumbledore a few years back. This is exactly how the summoner wishes it to look, you may not know why it looks like the seaside, but personally I rather like

Her voice deepened slightly, took a more serious note. 

"The Resurrection Stone has no been destroyed from your summons, my doing, for I know why you are here. You want it to end, I'm assuming you want to go back and try again? Or hope for me to help you, possibly kill all those attacking you? I'm afraid I cannot do that, even Death has rules to stick too. You have a choice, die now, leave to the afterlife, your world is being destroyed as we speak, there is no way back. The hole has been closed, your world and everything you knew will be gone in a few hours. Or, I allow you into another world, to live your life again in the same bodies, every universe has a twin, a reflection if you like, one more chance at life. But, there is a catch."

Her voice washed over them like the waves, and despite the serenity that came with it, the warmth that kept them close to sleep, a jolt awakened them at her last sentence. Their bodies had that had slowly sunk backwards into the sand stiffened, and the familiar aches that encased their bodies through their time in the war began to creep back in. Harry hoisted himself up on to one elbow, pushing away the drowsiness from his mind. 

"What catch?"

"Voldemort will still be alive. The choice is up to you."

**A/N: I hope this is okay, if there is any mistakes feel free to let me know**

**And All rights go to JK Rowling of course**


	2. A difference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, tell me if you spot any mistakes
> 
> I've decided to make Harry two years older than cannon, so when it's fourth year he is in his sixth ect   
> That means Theo, Ron will all be older than cannon as well, so Ron will only be a year younger than the twins  
> Luna is only two years younger, so she will be in the same year as Dylan
> 
> Does that make sense?

There was a difference, like a tingling beneath the skin, itching through his scalp and tainting those sparkling emerald eyes. He had awoken in a body, familiar, new and old all at once like the smell of parchment that seemed to linger in the air. It was him, it was his body and his face all down to the scar on his forehead, and yet it wasn’t, for he was smaller, so much smaller. He was weaker, everything was so much bigger.

It was an odd concept, to get used to the fact you are a five year old, and you know you are five, it as though you were always such, at least for the past however many months. It wasn’t new, but something felt off underneath, felt wrong.

He shouldn’t even know it felt wrong. He knew things, recognised things, words that seemed to pop into his head at all random times of the day: Nagini, Ron, Kreacher, basilisk, Hermione, Hogwarts.

Many could be put down to the stories from his parents, or the books in the vast library of Potter Manor. But Harry, little five-year-old Harry knew it was not that. He recognised each word with a lingering familiarity and a sharp prodding behind his eyes. Something was different about him, and though many words that sprung out he could not form, his mouth unable to produce them and he glared hard with his adorable scrunched up face, he knew there was something more to it all.

Sometimes, they would look at him weirdly, his parents, his family, all those people that he knew he loved with all his heart and yet a small part buried deep within his mind felt much more detached from them, as though watching it all happen from behind a glass wall. They would give him strange looks of raised eyebrows and big frowns and it would make him nervous; he didn’t want these people to hate him, but they found him weird. They called him bright, well that’s nice, he liked the sun, but he much preferred the rain more, the clouds that came with it, that covered him up and kept him safe, hidden like a disguise from those masked hooded fi-

Pain. Explosions. Pain.

Strange thoughts such as those would occur often, and along with it came a tremendous pain inflicted upon his head, never able to finish what he was thinking, never able to decipher the swirling mass of jumbled thoughts and pictures.

They said he suffered from migraines. They were wrong, about both things. Migraine, he wasn’t sure what that was, they spoke to him as though he was dumb it was infuriating because he knew exactly what a migraine was thank you very mu- but he didn’t. He didn’t know that was. What was a migraine? My-grain? But they were wrong. Though he didn’t know why. And suffer? Suffer. Suffering. They were wrong, this wasn’t suffering, he’d seen more suffering than they could imagine. But he hadn’t. He had though. And yet he hadn’t. He was five. F-ive. One whole hand of fingers! The oldest he’d ever been! And on went the cycle of yes and no, had and hadn’t, forever stuck inside his head trying to figure out the truth.

Lily remembered giving birth to her first child, Harry, so small with tufts of little black hair and big bright emerald eyes. His little face with somewhat rosy cheeks, but neither crying nor happy, just blinking up at her in wonder, before he gurgled a little. Even he seemed surprised at the noise. That was her most precious memory; not because she had favorites, she loved all her children equally, but because he was her first child, the first time she had held a baby, it was as though everything she felt was missing in life just fitted into one place like a jigsaw puzzle.

His bedroom was a baby blue colour, and shelves stacked with books of brightly coloured pictures and plush teddies of all animals and a white crib James and Sirius had assembled themselves with much bickering and reading the wrong instructions. It had taken two days, and even then, it was Remus who had stepped in and given them a whack over the head.

Her family was a strange one, with a sister who had not spoken to her in years, someone she missed dearly despite their angry last words. A husband, James, who though did not act like it half the time, was the biggest mama bear anyone had seen. Sirius and Remus, who over time had grown to be brothers, Remus possibly more so than Sirius at any rate, a small bitter part of her had yet to forgive him for the incident in fifth year, the prank that had almost killed Severus. Of course, her and Severus were no longer as close, but at any rate, their relationship was slowly on the mend. It had taken a long time, many fights with James and even bigger rows with Sirius who was still convinced Severus was a Death Eater in disguise, and the end of the War to bring them all back together. Dorcas and Marlene were he sisters, always had been since first year Hogwarts, though they lost Mary during a fight with the Order, and Peter, who, before Voldemort had reached their home was dead, riddled with guilt had killed himself and left a letter of his confession and apologies. Peter wasn’t spoken of often, if he was it was in fond memories and the war was never spoken of at all. The Marauders wanted to remember their comrade with happiness, not betrayal, and even then possibly regret themselves, regret that they had not helped him.

After baby Harry was born her family only got bigger, with Dylan Fleamont Potter two years after that. They were her boys and she would do anything for them.

There had been a month wherein she had spiraled, where she thought after hearing the prophecy she would never get to see her children grow, never be able to watch them learn, but she was wrong. Voldemort did attack, but Dylan stopped him and now has a lightning bolt scar upon his forehead. Harry has one two, so much fainter, unless you new it was there and were, under scrutiny, looking for it, you would never be able to see it. Yet that scar, that scar Harry was born with. They had discussed taking him to Dumbledore, her and James, but in the end decided against it, they were becoming rather suspicious of the old man in his office.

Dylan was born with a deep auburn hair, not vibrant like the Weasley red, but a darker mix of herself and James, with a splatter of freckles across his nose that always disappeared in the winter, and these pretty doe eyes of a swirling hazel much like his father, with her heart shaped face. He was always smiling, and giggling, with that mischievous smirk even if he had done nothing, they often speculated together in the peace and comfort of their bed, if he was that cunning to keep them on their toes, of if it was just his resting face.

Harry was a much more mellow child, that wasn’t to say Dylan was loud, neither of them were particularly, though Dylan was more prone to outbursts of emotion. Harry was quieter in a sense, but his accidental magic was much more aggressive, and he often wore and pensive look, though never seemed to quite know what he was thinking about. It was rather entertaining to watch, one moment thinking hard with his nose scrunching up and eyes half closed, to his expression smoothing out and rather befuddled gaze overcame his face.

James found it a little odd, but endearing at the same time, his favorite thing to do with them was to spout bubbles from his wand and watch them roll around trying to pop them all. Both their boys would be giggling away, eyes alight and bright, spurred within the moment to be childish. Harry was different in that respect too, there were days where he would act the child he was, almost as immature as Dylan, and days where it was though everything he did was to please them, as though he was sure how to act and though someone was whispering to him, telling him what to do. They thought maybe it was the side effect of the migraines. Or maybe they just hoped.

She would forever be glad she could watch her children grow up. She loved them so dearly. She lay at night, in the warmth of their bed, and often thought about what might have happened. If there was another world out there, somewhere, where the attack had gone differently, where see did not live to see her children.


End file.
